Body Heat
by Flaignhan
Summary: He only seemed to care about her when he was angry, and the selfish part of her wanted him to be angry forever. But then his hands were cold.  [TenMartha]


**A/N:** Yeah, again this really isn't what I'd normally write, but I just had a passing fancy (only it didn't pass, it stopped,) and I ended up spending my friday night and saturday writing this. Same as Songbird really, not sure if I like it. But I think it suits better than Songbird did. Oh, and to those who reviewed Songbird, _thank you. _It was absolutely wonderful to wake up and find that people liked it, especially as I hadn't been too sure about it, and thought I would wake up regretting it. Oh, and if you're a TenMartha fan, I'd reccomend 'Mr and Mrs Smith go to Lyrae' because I read it, loved it, and read it again LOADS of times. It's in my favourites so I think you should check it out, because there aren't enough TenMartha fics on here. Right, I'm going to shut up now...and now I can't get the image of John Simm zipping his mouth shut out of my head. Damn.

* * *

**Body Heat.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

He'd seen a lot of things in his nine hundred plus years. 

None of them had been as horrific as the sight he was seeing now.

Martha Jones, his own confident, intelligent, tenacious, brilliant, kind, beautiful and brilliant (had he mentioned brilliant?) Martha Jones was tied to a rack before him, being slowly stretched. He could see her shoulders straining at an odd angle that was more than unhealthy, her screams echoing loudly in his ears. He'd never heard her scream like that before, not when she'd been kidnapped by mutant pig slaves, nor when she'd been kidnapped by humans for that matter. Not when Professor Lazarus had been chasing her up to the top of the tower in that cathedral, not even when her entire place of work had been ripped from its roots and relocated to the surface of the moon.

No, he'd never heard her scream like that.

And it was terrible.

"Leave her alone!" he screamed angrily, straining against the chains that bound him to a support column. The guards laughed, causing him to become more frustrated.

"Doctor, you only have to tell us," the chief said in a silky tone which had chilled the Doctor the first time he'd heard it.

"And I've already told you I don't know!" he felt as though his body was going to collapse, yet he still strained against the chains, painfully aware that he was becoming more and more bruised every time he did this, but not caring in the slightest. "You think I'd put her through this for the sake of some stupid war?"

"But you Time Lords are all the same, struggling to keep things the way they're meant to be-"

"We're _not_ all the same," the Doctor growled. "Not remotely." The chief considered him for a moment and then nodded to one of the guards, who promptly made his way over to the Doctor, undoing the chains (but keeping a firm grip on the Doctor when he tried to run to Martha) and dragged him away, screaming for his companion.

After he'd been sitting in the dungeon for ten minutes, the screams had stopped. Had they untied her? Had she become unconscious? Was she...no, Martha didn't give in that easily. Another five minutes had been and gone when he saw one of the guards carrying her over his shoulder. The Doctor rushed up to the bars, in order to get a better look at her, make an assessment, a diagnosis of the damage. The door was flung open, knocking the Doctor back into the wall and winding him so he coughed and spluttered, gasping for breath as he slid down to the ground. Martha was dumped unceremoniously onto the stone floor and the guard locked the door, walking away quite calmly, as though he was just popping out to get some milk from the local shop.

The Doctor shuffled over to Martha and pulled her into a sitting position so her back was against his chest. He wiped the hair from her sweaty face and tucked it behind her ear. Martha let out a quiet whimper, a single tear slipping from her eye and trailing rapidly down her face. He couldn't do anything to stop the pain. He'd been stripped of his coat and jacket, so he had no sonic screwdriver, no painkillers, no psychic paper, (not that that would be of much use now) no Tardis key, no bananas, no circuit boards from various electrical appliances, no chewing gum, no anything. Just his shirt, his trousers, his tie and his shoes, and none of those would be much use. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her, "I'm so sorry," another whimper escaped her lips. "Where does it hurt most? Shoulders?" she nodded, and he took his hands away from her middle, and began to carefully inspect her shoulders. They weren't dislocated, but it had been close. He began to massage them gently and at first, she flinched, but she didn't have the energy to bat the Doctor's hands away. He carried on, soothing the muscles more and more as the time passed, and the pain began to dull down ever so slightly. After an hour of the Doctor rubbing her shoulders gently, Martha began to regain some energy. Her hands were still shaking uncontrollably, and the rope burns around her wrists and ankles stung like hell, but the Doctor obviously had healing hands, because her shoulders, although still incomprehensibly painful, were feeling a lot better. He seemed to get the message, because he whispered into her ear: "Where else?"

"Legs," she told him, sounding as though she had a bad sore throat. Which, she realised, she did. She wasn't surprised after all the screaming she had done. The Doctor probably had a sore head thanks to her. He shifted her so she could lean back against the wall, then moved himself down towards her feet, picking up her left leg and slipping off her shoe, placing it gently on the ground, before sliding her trouser leg up to her knee. Martha's breath hitched in her throat. Shoulders were one thing, but legs were another. And the way he was going about it, so gently, so carefully. She shut her eyes and reminded herself that he was doing this because he was her friend, a friend who wanted to ease the pain that the day's tortures had inflicted on her. As a friend. Nothing more.

He placed a gentle kiss on Martha's foot, and she opened her eyes. He wasn't looking at her, instead he was concentrating on her foot; massaging it gently, gradually working his way up her leg (missing out her rope burned ankle, of course) until he got to her knee, and then working his way back down again. He continued this for a while, before deciding it was time to move onto the other leg. He slid her trouser leg back down, slipped her shoe onto her foot, and placed her leg back on the ground.

He kissed her right foot too, but this kiss seemed to linger a little while longer. Not that Martha was complaining. _Never_ would she complain about something as intimate as him kissing her and massaging her. Not exactly the setting she'd hoped this sort of situation would arise in, but when they led a life like they did, it was always going to be one of the really awful times that made them appreciate each other more. It was like how tragedy brought people together back home, the flooding of a village uniting its inhabitants, the death of a loved one bringing together relations who hadn't met up in years, addicts going to group therapy to share their burden. Something like that, anyway.

"Where else?" he asked, having slid her right trouser leg back down and replaced the shoe once more.

"My back," Martha whispered, eyes locking with his for a second before he turned away, looking around the dungeon.

"Cleanest bit's here," he said, pointing to the patch of stone which wasn't as filthy as the rest of the cell. He helped her move over to it gently, keeping a cautionary arm around her as she lay down on her stomach, resting her head on her arms. "Top or bottom?"

"What?" Martha asked.

"Of your back?"

"Oh, bottom," she answered holding back a shiver as he slid her top up slightly and began to massage the small of her back. Martha tried not to feel disappointed that he hadn't kissed it first, like he had done with her feet. Although, to be fair, it was very hard to feel disappointed when his hands were moving over her body so softly.

"What about your hips? They probably took a lot of strain, I mean – if you'd feel uncomfortable-"

"No!" Martha said quickly. "I mean – not that – they really hurt," she propped her face on her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes to distract herself from the pain and trying to keep whichever tears decided to formulate at bay.

"Ok," he whispered, and he moved his hands down to her hips, massaging them gently without becoming too intrusive. Now that was really something, Martha thought. Most blokes would take the opportunity to have a bit of a grope, but even though he'd kissed her feet, which, he didn't have to, he _chose_ to, (something which meant Martha had to tell herself to calm down every time she thought about it) he stayed on her hips, massaging the pain away, not taking advantage, not doing anything except making her better.

Did he realise he was only making her love him more by doing that?

It was late when the door crashed open again, and one of the guards walked in with two metal bowls and two bottles of pearly white fluid. He thrust them into the Doctor's arms and left again, the door clanging loudly as he shut it and locked it. "Martha?"

"Yeah?"

"We've got chips," he grinned for the first time that day, and handed a bowl of fat greasy chips to Martha, who smiled in relief. "And what's this I wonder?" he opened the bottle and took a swig of the liquid. "Just what you need, I think," he informed her after slapping his lips together appreciatively. He passed the bottle to her and she drank down the liquid, feeling instantly refreshed, as though she'd had a hundred showers in the space of a second.

"Could get used to this food," Martha told the Doctor, slowly chewing on a chip, her eyes half closed due to tiredness.

"Well next time you fancy it, we'll go to Jalto Nine instead. The locals there are very friendly," he pondered a moment before adding, "A little too friendly at times actually, never been groped so much in my life..." Martha let out a little chuckle and the Doctor turned to look at her. "Martha Jones, I do hope you're not laughing at my body being violated." Martha Jones. She had wondered why he called her that, why he didn't just call her Martha. She didn't mind, in fact, it made her feel special, because it was rare that he'd call anyone else by their full name, at least, not in front of her. She'd never heard him say William Shakespeare or Richard Lazarus. Granted, he sometimes called people by their full name first time around, perhaps to familiarise himself with it, but Martha was quite sure he was familiar with her name by now. "Well?"

"What?" Martha asked, turning to look at him.

"Were you laughing at my body being violated?"

"No, course not," Martha lied, and the Doctor tutted. "I never asked," Martha said, and he turned to look at her. "Are you alright?"

"What is it with humans, asking if other people are alright when they've been on the rack for God knows how long?" Martha ignored him and looked him up and down, satisfied that there were no external injuries. She put a hand against his forehead and he frowned. "I'm _fine_," he told her, trying to dodge away from her hand.

"No you're not, you've got a temperature. D'you feel nauseous?" she asked, setting her bowl down to the side of her and moving onto her knees so she could inspect him better.

"I'm eating chips, Martha; of course I'm not nauseous."

"Headache?" he shook his head. "Dizzy?"

"Dizzy? I don't get dizzy!"

"Anything apart from a high temperature?"

"Martha, the reason I have a high temperature is because I'm angry, so sit down," he pulled her gently towards him so she was sitting next to him once more, "eat your chips," he placed the bowl in her lap, "and stop worrying."

"You don't seem angry," Martha argued, but she picked up a chip nonetheless and popped it into her mouth.

"That's because I'm not angry at you. So I'm not going to take it out on you. Especially when the reason I'm angry is because they hurt you."

"That's why you're angry?" Martha asked.

"Well, not angry, more...Livid? Furious? Irate? Enraged? Incensed? Ooh, I like incensed, but what about apoplectic? I've always liked that, makes a nice sound." Martha smiled. It wasn't that she didn't realise he was protective over her, because their trip to New New York had proved that, but she never thought he'd be 'apoplectic' because someone had hurt her. But then she remembered him screaming over and over for them to leave her alone, drowning out even her ear splitting screams. She put her bowl of chips down on the floor next to her and put her arms around his middle, needing to feel him next to her, needing to feel safe. He wrapped an arm around her, giving her a comforting squeeze, before picking up his own bowl of chips and offering it to her. "Chip?" she smiled and took one, her own bowl lying forgotten.

She was warm when she awoke, despite the fact that the dungeon wasn't the room temperature she was used to, and she was wearing a vest which wasn't the best item of clothing to keep her temperature up at its normal level. No, the reason she was warm was because she had a pair of arms around her, and she could feel a warm chest rising and falling next to her. He was warmer than he was last night. Martha sat up.

"Are you angrier now?"

"I don't know, hadn't really thought about it, I was just thinking about...ah, yes, I suppose I am. You know, you think about things, and you think about them over and over until you're apoplectic to the power of livid, and it's all very unfortunate. Well, unfortunate for Chief Mikimbu." Martha picked up the unopened bottle of pearly drink from last night and took a swig from it, before offering it to the Doctor, who accepted, and drank some. Martha picked up one of the cold chips and nibbled at it cautiously. While it was not the most pleasant meal in the world, it wasn't vile, and Martha knew she couldn't afford to be fussy, so she set the bowl on the ground between them and they shared a cold but welcome breakfast.

"Better than the stuff I got in 1913, I suppose," Martha commented after a while.

"Yeah, sorry about that," the Doctor said apologetically. "Next time I'll get the Tardis to set us down on the Caribbean in 2034."

"There won't be a next time, I'm not letting you do that again," she paused, before asking, "What happens in the Caribbean in 2034?"

"Nothing really, it's the peak of the Caribbean as you know it really, nothing _interesting_, per se."

"Interesting meaning no aliens wandering around with some plot that we have to foil."

"Yeah, something like that." Martha smiled.

"D'you want the last one?" she asked.

"Nah, you have it." Martha bit off half of the chip, and offered the other half to the Doctor.

"Share?" she asked. He grinned at her, before leaning down and taking the chip in his mouth, swallowing it without chewing, his lips lingering on her fingers for so long that it could have been construed as a kiss, but Martha was not going to allow herself to think about it.

Well, at least not _too_ much.

Between them, they finished the bottle of 'Gallyopatine' (that's what the Doctor had called it, anyway) and halfway through a long and boring game of eye spy, the door clanged open again. One guard dragged Martha to her feet and she cried out in pain, her limbs still aching from the previous day's events. The other guard dragged the Doctor to his feet, and Martha knew the expression on his face did not bode well for anyone. Although, she didn't see what they could do; they had no means of escape, the place was heavily guarded, Chief Mikimbu wanted something they didn't have, and they were going to torture Martha until they got it.

The Doctor didn't have a chance to unleash his anger though. He was tied in the same chains as he had been yesterday, but this time they had stuffed a wad of material in his mouth, so he couldn't speak. The guards laughed as Martha was tied to the rack again, and the Doctor tried to yell something but it came out as a muffled mess.

Martha's screams were not muffled, and all the Doctor could do was watch in horror. She was crying uncontrollably when they fixed the ropes in place, her shoulders on the brink of giving out, and something was lowered down from the ceiling and placed upon her stomach. It was heavy, but it wasn't painful. It reminded her of a big version of the weights they'd used in school during science, one weight fixed at the bottom of a thick metal wire, and other weights placed on top of it until one got the desired overall weight. It became painful when they added another weight on top of this torture-sized version. And then another, and another. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe and Martha was sure her organs were suffering badly from it, but Chief Mikimbu ignored Martha's yells and the muffled cries of the Doctor, ordering his guards to put more weights on top of Martha. It was painful, yes, but it was a lot better than the stretching, which Martha had put right at the top of the pain scale. Besides, she'd suffocated before, when they'd been on the moon, it was no big deal, she was out partying at Leo's twenty-first a few hours later.

She felt sick when she realised it was unlikely that she'd see his twenty-second.

* * *

Two hours later and she was dumped once more on the dungeon floor, having suffered another stretching after her...what was it? Squashing? The Doctor was thrown in after her and swore as he hit the stone floor. The door banged shut and the Doctor rolled Martha onto her back, gently but quickly. She let out a cry of pain as he did so. "I know it hurts, but I need to check you out, those weights do a lot of damage." He pushed her vest up so her stomach was exposed, and began to feel various points of it, trying to work out how badly it had affected Martha's internal organs. "No lasting damage, but it'll be sore for a few days. Well, probably a week or so. D'you want me to massage you again?" 

"Yeah," Martha whispered, and she made a shaky attempt to sit up. The Doctor caught her as she failed and fell backwards, pulling her round so she was sitting against him, like she had been yesterday.

He kissed her shoulders as he rubbed them, adding another kiss every now and then. Martha wished she was more alert, partly so she would have been able to kiss him back, and partly so she'd be able to remember it clearly once all this was over. She knew he'd act like it hadn't happened once they'd got back to the Tardis and were safe and sound, knew they'd carry on as before. She didn't mind, because it meant she got a little bit of love, and a little bit of love in desperate situations was better than no love at all.

He moved onto her legs, kissing those too as he massaged them, causing Martha to curl her toes in delight each time he brushed his lips against her calf. She rolled over onto her front on the cleaner patch of floor, and he moved her vest upwards so her back was exposed. He leant down low to kiss it and Martha shivered, not believing that this was the same Doctor who had brushed her off so many times, who had told her she was going on one trip and one trip only. She didn't think much beyond that though, because she needed to put all her concentration into biting down on her lip to prevent herself from gasping or doing anything else as equally embarrassing.

"Will you do my stomach?" she asked after a while. He nodded and she rolled over so she was lying on her back, lean stomach exposed to the Doctor. He leant down again and kissed her, his lips hovering over her belly button before he placed another kiss on her lowest right rib, causing her to gulp quite audibly. The Doctor smiled and began to run his hands over her sore flesh, relaxing the muscles and in doing so, relaxing Martha.

It was divine intervention, she had decided, that made her choose a pair of hipsters when she was getting dressed yesterday morning. She was certain she was going to bite her lip clean off, and by the time he had placed a soft kiss on her hip, she wasn't sure whether she still had any lip left to bite down on. He kissed the other side of her hip, causing her to gasp before she could stop herself. She felt him smile against her skin and she swallowed before trying to breathe in a calm fashion. This was an impossible feat however, when the Doctor was massaging your hips in a way that was only known to the gods. Martha had never been particularly religious before, but now she found that she was believing in divine intervention and gods, one of whom was massaging her hips at that very moment.

"Where else?" he asked, his hands leaving her hips. Martha sat up.

"My arms," she told him. He took her hand and kissed each of her knuckles, and then each of her fingertips. Martha was captivated by the sight of his lips touching her fingers, and she watched as he turned her hand over gently, kissing her palm, and then her wrist, his lips making their way up her arm. On the way back down, he massaged her arm gently, and then kissed his way back up it again, repeating the process.

By the time he was almost finished with the other arm, Martha felt like she was about to implode. "Where else?" he murmured against the skin of her arm. She took him by the wrist and placed his hand on her thigh.

"Here," she whispered, and felt his lips curve into a smile against her arm.

"It's a shame that it's entirely inappropriate to get rid of these," he tugged lightly on her trousers, "in here, so we'll have to make do with a material barrier, I'm afraid." Martha didn't reply, just watched as he leant down and kissed her thigh, the material barrier not lessening the effect of feeling his lips against her in any way. She swallowed hard and leant back against the wall while he massaged her thighs, swallowing down a gasp every now and then. For some reason she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of it. Possibly because it'd make his already large ego even bigger, and a Doctor with an even bigger ego was not an idea she warmed to.

"And where else, Miss Jones?" when had his voice sounded like that? The hyper child-in-a-toyshop voice had disappeared and had been replaced by...she didn't know what. But whatever it was, it was sexy, she knew that much.

"My head's killing me, actually." He smiled at her and she moved so he could sit behind her. He carefully pulled her hair out of the pony tail it had been in for the last two days and placed a kiss on the spot where her jaw met her ear. Martha didn't know how much more she could take before she cursed appropriateness into hell and had her way with him. She seemed to have more will power than she gave herself credit for, because even when his hands were running through her hair, massaging her head gently, she was still sitting upright and they both still had all their clothes in tact. After a while he'd slipped his hands down to her shoulders, back to where they'd started, placing kiss after kiss on her warm skin. They slipped down again, gently going under her shirt to massage her ribs, which she had to admit, _were_ aching. She let herself sag into him, head resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed as she tried to burn this memory into her mind forever.

"Where would you like me to direct my undivided attention to next?" he whispered, lips brushing against her ear.

"Here," she whispered back, pointing to her neck, eyes still closed in bliss as he continued at run his hands over her ribs. He started on her jaw line, kissing her lightly, then working his way down her neck, making her gasp at various stages. He was just tracing her collar bone with his lips when he realised her hand was gripping his trouser leg. He hadn't even touched her anywhere he hadn't touched her before, yet he was having this effect on her. He smiled, realising just how good he was.

The feeling of him smiling against her skin every now and then was driving Martha crazy. He was enjoying it. The Doctor, he was enjoying kissing her and touching her. She was enjoying it too, but she enjoyed it when he held her hand. She enjoyed it when he smiled at her, when he hugged her. She was easily pleased, but the Doctor was a tough nut to crack, and yet somehow, whether it was out of guilt, or because he genuinely wanted to, he'd started this...whatever it was, and it didn't look like he was going to stop any time soon. It was worth getting tortured for, she decided. His lips and his hands all over her body was definitely worth a few hours of stretching. She'd never tell him that, though, he'd probably get all angry and tell her she needed to sort her priorities out. Which, she confessed, she did.

"Doctor," she whispered at last.

"Mmm?" he replied, his lips lightly resting on her neck before he kissed her again.

"My lips hurt." There was that smile against her skin again. It drove her absolutely insane.

"Well, I'll just have to be gentle, won't I, Miss Jones?"

"Yeah," Martha whispered. One of his hands removed itself from her ribs and Martha instantly began to miss the touch. When the Doctor moved his other hand round further to do with one hand what he had previously been doing with two, Martha decided that he could, in fact, read minds. The hand which had removed itself from under her top came up to rest gently on the side of her face, tilting her head so that he could quite easily brush his lips against hers, making her grip onto his trouser leg even more tightly. She let go and twisted round slightly, so she was sitting sideways to him. He kissed her again, and this time it wasn't just a light brushing of the lips that made her shiver, it was a soft and gentle kiss, but so full of passion it made her skin feel as though it were on fire. Her hand found its way to his hair, and for once it was her that was messing it up, not him. The hand which was caressing her ribs made its way down her waist, pausing for a moment on her hip so he could rub his thumb across the patch of skin which covered the bone, eliciting a soft moan from Martha, and he moved his hand down further, running it along the thigh which rested across his own at a right angle. She broke away from him and began to kiss his neck, loosening his tie so she had plenty of places shower with kisses. It was _her_ smiling against _his_ skin when she heard him gasp, and it spurred her on to find more of his favourite places to be kissed. She found several, and before she could find anymore, the Doctor had pulled her into another kiss, one hand resting gently on the side of her face, the other running along her spine, something which Martha very much enjoyed.

She untucked his shirt and explored his chest, her hands wandering all over his torso, which, judging by the noises he made, (which were half swallowed by the kiss anyway) he didn't object to in the slightest. It was Martha who broke the kiss again, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly as the Doctor began another assault on her neck, leaving her even more breathless than she had been before.

A door clanged in the distance and they immediately jumped away from each other, the Doctor smoothing his hair down while Martha brushed the creases out of her top. One of the guards opened the door and shoved a bowl of chips and a bottle of Gallyopatine into the Doctor's hands, then shoved the other bowl and bottle into Martha's hands, before slamming the door and locking it, disappearing down the corridor. They shared a sheepish look and opened their bottles, draining half of it in one go, before moving onto their chips.

"You have to sleep as well," Martha told him.

"And who made that rule?"

"Me. I know you didn't sleep last night, and it's not healthy to go that long without sleeping. You could get really ill."

"Correction: _humans_ could get really ill if they go this long without sleeping."

"_Any_ species can get really ill if they don't get enough rest."

"Well, I suppose if it makes you happy..." he laid down behind her and put his right arm over her, his left folded in half and stretched out on the ground before him, the elbow end serving as a pillow to Martha, the hand and shoulder end serving as a pillow to himself.

Martha woke a few hours later and could tell by the slow, rhythmic breathing on the back of her neck that the Doctor was asleep. The thing that really gave it away though, was the feeling of his hand resting on her stomach, thumb stroking her absentmindedly. Well, it wasn't that, it was the fact that his hand was cool. In fact, his whole body was cool, which meant he wasn't angry, which in turn, meant he could only be asleep. Martha smiled and felt her eyelid droop once more, and when she awoke a few hours later, the hand which was still stroking her stomach was warm, even though the rise and fall of his chest was the same as it had been when he'd been asleep. She put her hand on top of his and he laced his fingers in hers, his thumb still moving back and forth, pausing every now and then to trace a circle around her belly button. "What's the time?" she asked him, purely out of a lack of anything else to say.

"Dunno," he replied quietly. "I know that the Santeans' days are longer than yours though." She didn't know why, but the use of the word 'yours' seemed like someone had poured a bucket of water over her head. Of _course_. He was an alien.

"How long were yours, on your planet?"

"Long enough," he answered evasively. Martha sighed. "When we get out of here, where d'you wanna go?"

"I don't mind," Martha replied. She looked up as she heard footsteps approaching and the Doctor sat up, his fingers still twined with Martha's.

"You can't do this to her again!" he screamed, his vocal cords feeling as though they were ripping to shreds. He pulled against the chains that bound him.

"Actually, I think you'll find we can. You only have to talk to make it stop; you only have to tell us what we want to know." Chief Mikimbu glanced at one of the guards and nodded. Martha held in her screams. The last two days had heightened her pain threshold, and she wasn't at breaking point yet. The guards realised this, and within seconds her arms felt as though they were going to be ripped clean off her body.

"Leave her alone!" he screamed, "just leave her-" his pleas were muffled as one of the guards shoved a wad of material into his mouth, so far that he ended up choking. Chief Mikimbu laughed as the Doctor yelled into the material and pulled fruitlessly against his chains.

Neither Martha nor the Doctor knew how long it was before the chief ordered the guards to stop, to put Martha into the chair, but they were relieved when it happened.

She paid no attention as her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair, didn't even register that anything bad was happening until she saw the Doctor's look of panic, his eyes wide as he began screaming and pulling at the chains again. Martha turned her head and saw something that she'd only seen in history books at school. Only when they'd been studying medieval times. Only when they'd spent that lesson looking at methods of torture. She didn't even ask where the Santeans had got thumbscrews from; she was too busy shaking her head in panic, incoherent pleas tumbling from her mouth. They paid her no attention, and the guard with the thumbscrews knelt down in front of her, one hand moving towards her own, which she immediately clenched into a fist. The guard grabbed her hand and wrestled it open, holding it while he put the thumbscrews over her fingers and tightened it so it would stay in place. Martha was crying now, muttering the word 'no' over and over as he placed the other set of thumbscrews on her other hand. There was a retching sound and the cloth which had been shoved deep into the Doctor's mouth landed on the floor.

"Mikimbu, don't do this," he was begging, and this scared Martha. The Doctor wasn't giving orders, he was _begging_. She'd never seen him like this. "She's just a twenty-first century human; she's got nothing you want. If you're going to use those on anyone-" Mikimbu started to laugh loudly.

"Use them on you? Don't be ridiculous, we both know Time Lords can withstand much more pain than humans, _and_ we both know that you hate seeing anyone else in pain, would much rather suffer it yourself. But, do tell me Doctor, what has she got that _you_ want?" Martha looked up to meet the Doctor's eyes but he was looking at the ground. "Well come on then Doctor, do tell." He finally looked up.

"She's all I've got."

"Well I'm sure that when she meets an unfortunate end, you'll find some other girl who'll take up some space on your Tardis and make it a bit less quiet."

"No," the Doctor growled. Martha noticed he was sweating, even though the room was cool. "Leave her alone."

"Tell us what we want to know!" Mikimbu yelled at him. "What are their plans? How many men have they got? Who is the spy that's working for them?"

"I don't know!" the Doctor screamed. "I don't care about the outcome of some stupid war that has no effect on anyone whatsoever! You both want the same thing; you're just fighting over who gets to do it! It doesn't matter in the end, okay? If you care about your cause then you'll end this _now_! How many more deaths is it going to take? You both want the same thing! How stupid are you? You could have rejoined but oh no, you decided to shoot each other and rip each others' throats out. And _then_ you decide to torture Martha, and believe me," his voice dropped to a threatening growl. "That's the biggest mistake of your life."

"Oh I'm terrified, Doctor. And, what exactly do you intend to do about this, held in your chains. Or your cell. In fact, I prefer the latter, I think." He nodded to the guards and they grabbed the Doctor by the arms, chains falling to the ground.

As he was dragged away, Martha began to cry again, her fingers twitching, trying to dislodge the thumbscrews. They were too tight though, her fingers already suffering. Hopefully the Doctor knew of some planet where they could reconstruct crushed fingers. She hoped so. Or even if he didn't, she hoped they'd at least get off of this one. The thumbscrews clamped down tighter on her fingers, bringing her back to reality as she cried out in pain.

* * *

It had been the longest wait of his life. The cell was tiny, but he still paced around it, banging his fist against the wall whenever a particularly strong surge of anger took over, or else rattling the bars and screaming out to anyone within earshot. The last he'd heard of Martha was a cry of pain, and then he was too far away to hear anything else. 

The Doctor caught her as she was pushed into the cell, which was lucky, because he felt her knees give way as soon as he had a hold of her. He sent a deathly glare to the guard, who just curled his lip and walked away. The Doctor sank down to the floor slowly, Martha leaning against him and crying more than he had ever seen her cry before. He quickly searched for her hands and took them in his own; looking to see how badly injured they were. Her fingers were covered in a long bruise, which showed exactly where they had been crushed. It looked like they hadn't gone through with it properly, though, because when he asked her to move her fingers, she did so, lifting a hand out of his own to wipe at her eyes. He moved her hand away gently and brushed the tears away with his thumb, and kept doing so every time fresh ones presented themselves. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. "Oh dear, Martha Jones. What are we gonna do with you?" she didn't answer, just fiddled with his tie and closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming. The heat from him soothed her body, made her muscles relax and chased away the coolness from the room she had been in for the last few hours. He hadn't even given her a massage, something which she felt quite disappointed about. He hadn't even kissed her. Probably for some noble reason which involved the phrase 'not taking advantage'. She wanted him to kiss away the pain, kiss away the fear, the shock, the rack and the thumbscrews. Kiss her anywhere and everywhere. But really, most of all, what she wanted was for him to take advantage of her over and over again.

She laughed as this thought entered her head, her laugh becoming louder and louder. She was stuck in a cell, had been stretched so much she felt like a piece of taffy, almost had her fingers crushed medieval style and had no idea how long things would continue in this manner. Yet here she was, complaining to herself that the Doctor hadn't run his hands over her body like he had yesterday and the day before. Yeah, she decided, she really needed to get her priorities sorted. "What's so funny?" the Doctor asked, frowning at Martha, looking slightly worried about the sudden mood swing. For the last hour and a half she had been crying and trembling while he held her, and all of a sudden she was laughing as though someone had told her the joke about the Demigaph, the Tarason, and the Beleiger. Although, he had to admit, that _was _a good one. "Martha?" he prompted, swallowing the urge to smirk at the joke.

"Don't worry," she told him, her laughter dying away but a smile remaining on her face nonetheless. She turned around sharply as she heard the door opening in the distance, letting out a hiss of pain as she did so.

Chips and Gallyopatine were shoved at them and the guard walked off without a backward glance. They had both polished off their meals quite quickly, not having had cold chips earlier that morning, like they had done yesterday. Martha winced as she raised her bottle of Gallyopatine to her lips a little too quickly, but drank down some of the liquid anyway. The Doctor watched her as he put his last chip into his mouth, chewing on it slowly and then swallowing. He wiped his hand on the side of his trousers (which were filthy anyway) and placed his empty bowl down by his side.

"Come here," he said when she'd screwed the lid back on the bottle. She obliged, shuffling towards him on her knees. He turned her around so she had her back towards him, and began to rub her shoulders gently, brushing his lips against her skin every other second, as opposed to the occasional kiss she had received yesterday. Once he had finished with her shoulders, he moved so he was sitting in front of her, picking up her hand gently, and kissing each finger where it had been bruised by the thumbscrews. "I'm so," kiss, "_so_," another kiss, "sorry, for getting you into this." He placed the lightest of kisses on her wrist, and the stinging that was caused by the rope burns which had piled up after the last few days was replaced by a more pleasant sensation. Martha closed her eyes as he kissed her wrist again, glad that he had finally decided to give her a massage. Although, if she was honest, she'd pick the kisses over the massage any day. She counted herself very lucky to have him doing both of them.

"It's not your fault," she replied quietly.

"If you hadn't met me," he argued, still not taking his lips away from her arm.

"Then I wouldn't have got to go to New New York."

"And you wouldn't have been kidnapped."

"Or Old New York."

"And you wouldn't have been almost killed by Daleks and pig slaves several times."

"Shakespeare."

"Then you wouldn't have been knocked out by a Carrionite."

"Could get knocked out by a mugger in London. At least she didn't steal my mobile." The Doctor laughed softly and his breath tickled her skin, causing her to shiver. He'd moved onto her other arm now, moving her hair so he could kiss her upper arm.

Part of Martha wanted him to cut to the chase, to kiss her like he had done yesterday, but the other part of her wanted him to keep massaging, and keep placing soft kisses on every inch of her. No one had ever shown her this much attention before, and never, not even for a second had she thought it would be the Doctor who did it first. Yeah, she expected him to show some sympathy, because after all, she _had_ been tortured, but she had never expected this. Not in a million years. He'd probably kissed her a thousand times by now.

Not that she was counting of course.

His breath tickled her foot as he kissed it and Martha curled her toes. She was ticklish, and the last thing she wanted was to start shrieking because of it. She saw his face break into a sly grin as he noticed her scrunched up toes and he said softly, "I take it you like that, Martha Jones?" Martha didn't trust herself to speak, and instead chose to watch him. She swallowed in anticipation once he moved onto her back, noticing that he hadn't put her shoes back on her feet today.

Martha didn't know whether it had been five hours or five minutes until he finally began to kiss her neck, and then eventually kiss her properly, his hands in her hair while she gripped his shirt, pressing herself against him. What she did know, however, was that they were progressing a lot further than they had the previous day, his hands venturing to places they hadn't before, and when they broke apart to catch their breath some time later, their eyes met, both of them reaching a silent understanding.

She leaned in to kiss him again, her fingers digging into his back in desperation to be closer to him. She didn't know how she managed to stay conscious when he began to pull at the waist of her trousers, fumbling with the button.

* * *

Nobody came for them the next day. A worried looking guard gave them their chips and their Gallyopatine in the evening and left without so much as a sneer. "Now," the Doctor began quietly, frowning at a chip, "that's very interesting." 

"It's a chip," Martha said, "It's potato and fat plus heat, it's not _that_ interesting."

"No," he replied, popping the chip into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "Not only have they left us here all day-"

"Thank God," Martha interrupted.

"Well quite," the Doctor agreed, "but that guard looked rather distracted didn't he? I'd say Chief Mikimbu has encountered some problems."

"What are they fighting for? You said both sides were fighting for the same cause."

"Power, obviously. But originally Chief Mikimbu and General Chentai worked together, wanting to bring down the government, which they did. But then they began to double cross each other, there was an incident involving a fair bit of money and suddenly the country's experiencing civil war."

"Why did they want to bring down the government?" Martha questioned, hoping that she had been tortured for the sake of something important.

"Oh, Leader Minogue – don't laugh, he's no relation to Kylie anyway – was apparently setting aside too much land as conservation areas, and Mikimbu and Chentai thought it could be put to better uses."

"Like what?" she asked, her curiosity peaked. Back home people were protesting because there weren't enough conservation areas, marching through London opposing the new Heathrow terminal or demanding that planning permission was not given to the builders who wanted to stick a housing estate here, there and everywhere.

"Weapons factories. That was the main one. Santea had suffered a few invasions and Chentai and Mikimbu were going to take action. Fair enough I s'pose, I'd get peed off if someone kept invading my country, but the invasions had never been successful. Leader Minogue had kept a few soldiers on in case of trouble, and they were good enough to see the other lot off. You'd have liked him, I think. Bit of a hippy but really quite intelligent."

"Wow, that _is_ a compliment, coming from you. I'll tell him if I ever bump into him." The Doctor shook his head, his expression blank. "Oh," Martha said, understanding, "sorry." She picked up her bowl of chips and sighed. "Wish we had some salt."

The Doctor chuckled and put an arm around her.

* * *

That night, Martha was awoken by a loud explosion. Before she'd even sat up the Doctor was on his feet, trying to peer down the corridor to see if he could see anything happening, but all he could see were the long grey walls and the large grey door at the end of the corridor. "It's coming from above, you won't see anything down there." The Doctor sighed, knowing she was right, and began pacing around the tiny cell. Martha sat back down, back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees which she had tucked up to her chest. "Sit down," Martha told him, tugging on his hand as he walked past. He looked up at the ceiling, wishing he could find out what was going on and sat down next to Martha, sighing as he did so. She could tell he was agitated, so she took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. After they'd been sitting in silence for a while, she felt him relax next to her, and he gave her hand a small squeeze before lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on it. 

The noise above them continued for ages, neither of them knowing exactly for how long. Not that it made any difference, of course. Finally, the door at the end of the corridor opened, and both the Doctor and Martha jumped to their feet, peering through the bars in an attempt to get a look at their visitor.

He was quite tall, and very old, the grey colour of what little hair he had left demonstrating this quite clearly. He was wearing a set of long green robes that seemed quite extravagant when compared to the clothes that Martha and the Doctor were wearing, which were covered in dirt and were beginning to smell quite badly.

"Doctor," the man greeted calmly, holding his palms out in front of the Doctor.

"Chentai," the Doctor returned the greeting, putting his hands through the bars and placing them on top of Chentai's. Apparently this was some sort of handshake.

"I found your blue box and thought I'd come looking for you. We've taken over this place. Taken over all of Mikimbu's strongholds, actually." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key, placing it into the lock and turning it clockwise. He moved aside as the door swung open and Martha let out a sigh of relief. Chentai turned to her. "Greetings," he said politely, holding out his palms.

"Erm, hello," Martha replied, placing her hands on top of his, just as the Doctor had done.

"Oh yes! Sorry! This is Martha Jones. Martha Jones, meet General Chentai." Martha smiled at General Chentai. The Doctor hadn't mentioned that he knew him, and Martha made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"I hope my former comrade has treated you with _some_ respect, although judging by the state of your living quarters, I guess not," the Doctor's expression grew very stony and he seemed to tense up beside Martha.

"Where is Mikimbu?" the Doctor asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"No longer with us."

"Right!" the Doctor said cheerfully, taking Martha's hand in his own. "Blimey, you're cold!" Martha shook her head. "Oh. Well, best be off, eh? Where did you say the Tardis was?"

"Security centre five. The code is eight four two seven. And I believe there's a jacket in there too, and a coat." The Doctor grinned.

"Thanks very much, Chentai." And without a backwards look, he guided Martha down the corridor, stepping aside so she could walk through the open door.

"I thought you said he killed Minogue?" Martha asked quietly.

"No, Mikimbu ordered Minogue's execution. Chentai didn't want any blood on his hands. He had told Mikimbu that their takeover was strictly peaceful. That was the first betrayal."

"Yet he wanted to build weapons factories?"

"Santeans are very patriotic. They will fight to the death to defend their country. Chentai was no different. In fact, he was so patriotic that he forbade the killing of any of the old government. Course, things have changed now they're at war. Well, I s'pose, with Mikimbu dead, there isn't much of a war left. Funny lot, you humans."

"Humans?" Martha said in disbelief. "You never said they were-"

"Well, I believe their proper name is jautosapien masadoonis. But the rest of us just call them humanish when they're not listening."

"Humanish," Martha stated, curious as to whether she'd heard him properly.

"Yep. C'mon."

Once they were safely back in the Tardis, Martha leaned on the edge of the console, watching the Doctor as he set a course for their next destination. He reached around her to flick a switch and Martha could feel the heat radiating off of him. She'd not noticed it before he'd told her. She supposed that most of the times he was angry, she was too scared to notice anything apart from whatever had caused the Doctor to lose his temper. "You alright?"

"Yeah!" he smiled at her, and it was genuine. "How about Caribbean, 2034? The weather's lovely there in April, and you won't believe the size of the banana plantations-"

"Doctor," she interrupted him before he could get any further into his stream of consciousness.

"Sorry."

"Just tell me what's wrong."

"No, I mean sorry. I got you into that mess and I couldn't get you out."

"Don't worry about it," Martha assured him, "Besides, I've always wanted to be a little bit taller." The Doctor didn't laugh. "Not a look back and laugh moment then?"

"No." Martha didn't know what to say to that, and didn't break the silence until the Doctor had finished setting the course and slumped down into one of the chairs.

"I'm going for a bath," she said quietly. He nodded and she left, looking forward having the warm water wash away everything that had happened in the last few days. The Doctor's massages had helped, but only a nice warm bath and plenty of rest could help her recover properly. She wouldn't say no to a few massages though.

* * *

She had been right, of course. He had completely ignored everything that had happened between them as soon as they set foot in the Tardis. Well, he hadn't _completely_ ignored it. He'd hold her hand more often than not and hug her for any old reason. Martha was surprised, because even though she'd vowed not to care, she was sure it would have bothered her. It didn't though, she didn't feel used and abused, not in the slightest, because she found the she was getting little bits of love every now and then, only very tiny bits, but it was enough to make her feel wanted, even needed, perhaps. 

There had been a few occasions where they had been trapped in particularly tight spots (as they were prone to doing) when the Doctor had whispered escape plans or information into her ear, making her shiver at his closeness. He only went and made things worse by smiling against the skin of her neck, or letting out a low chuckle, his breath making her shiver even more. At those times, he had taken her gently by the hand and they had gone back to escaping or thwarting or foiling or just plain running. They didn't mention it later. They never did.

It came as a shock, however, when a few weeks later (which was a record, for them) they found themselves being prisoner once more. Apparently they had broken some ridiculous law on some alien planet, (something about stepping on the cracks in the pavement) and now had to spend the next twenty four hours sharing a padded cell. Well, the fact that they were being held captive wasn't a shock, Martha had even started to feel disappointed if they went too long without being held in a cell and having to make some miraculous escape.

No, the big shock was, that when Martha pulled her shoes off to rest her feet (God knows why she'd thought it a good idea to wear heels) the Doctor took her foot into his hands and began to rub small circles into it.

"Your hands are cold," she told him plainly.

"Mmm." He agreed. "D'you want me to stop?" he asked after a moment. She hadn't realised she'd been staring, but the Doctor had. Martha shook her head.

"No," she answered in a half whisper.

"Good." He kissed the arch of her foot and Martha held her breath without realising it. He got onto his knees and shuffled towards Martha, who looked up at him. One cool hand cupped her face and he leant down to kiss her.

* * *

Martha soon became _very_ disappointed when they went for too long without getting thrown into some sort of prison cell.

* * *

"Miss Jones, correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem to be breaking the law rather a lot, lately." 

"Do I?" Martha asked innocently.

* * *

**The End.**

* * *


End file.
